The Winner's Curse(38)

Kestrel fidgeted with her skirts. “Arin. You know that we are going to Irex’s party.”

“Yes,” he said shortly, but didn’t tear his gaze away from the passing trees.

Better he look at them than at her. The velvet dress was a deep red, the skirts deliberately crushed in a pattern highlighted by golden embroidered leaves that twined up toward the bodice, where they interlaced and would catch the light. Conspicuous. The dress made her conspicuous. Kestrel sank into her corner of the carriage, feeling her dagger dig into her side. This evening at Irex’s wouldn’t be easy.

Arin seemed to think the same. He held himself so rigidly on the carriage seat across from her that he looked wooden. Tension seeped into the air between them.

When torches lit the darkness outside the windows and the driver lined up behind other carriages waiting to access the pathway to Irex’s villa, Kestrel said, “Perhaps we should return home.”

“No,” said Arin. “I want to see the house.” He opened the door.

They were silent as they walked up the path to the villa. Though not as large as Kestrel’s, it was also a former Herrani home: elegant, prettily designed. Arin fell behind Kestrel, as was expected of slaves, but this made her uneasy. It was unsettling to feel him close and not see his face.

They entered the house with the other guests and made their way into the receiving room, which was lined with Valorian weapons.

“They don’t belong there,” she heard Arin say. She turned to see him staring in shock at the walls.

“Irex is an exceptional fighter,” said Kestrel. “And not very modest.”

Arin said nothing, so neither did Kestrel. She prepared herself for the moment when the line of guests before her dwindled and she had to thank Irex for his hospitality.

“Kestrel.” Irex took her hand. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He pulled her closer. Although his grip on her hand was painful, she let him. People milled around them, and she didn’t think it would help matters to shame Irex in front of his guests. He said, “Let’s have no bad blood between us.” He smiled, and a dimple bit into his left cheek, making him look oddly childlike at the same time his voice was unpleasant. “Did you never wonder why I wanted to play with you at Bite and Sting?”

“Because you wanted to beat me. But you won’t.” She placed her free hand on top of his that gripped hers. The gesture would look friendly to anyone who watched, but Irex felt her pinch the nerve that forced his hand to release her captive one. “This is a lovely party. My thanks to you equals the grace you have shown me.”

The smile slid from his face. But Lady Faris was behind Kestrel and Arin, eager for attention, so it was easy for Kestrel to step aside and let the woman push close to Irex, saying what a shame it was that her husband couldn’t join her.

A slave in serving dress presented Kestrel with wine, then led the way to an open solarium with a low fountain and hothouse flowers. Musicians played discreetly behind an ebony screen as guests greeted each other, some chatting where they stood, others retreating for quiet conversations on the stone benches lining the fountain.

Kestrel turned to face Arin.

His eyes were dazed with anger, his hands clenched.

“Arin,” she began, concerned, but his gaze flicked away and settled on some point across the room. “Your friends are here,” he said.

She followed his line of sight to see Jess and Ronan laughing at something Benix had said.

“Dismiss me,” Arin said.

“What?” she said, though in fact he was the only escort in the room. The slaves who threaded through the crowd were servers, and Irex’s.

“Join your friends. I don’t want to stay here anymore. Send me to the kitchens.”

She took a breath, then nodded. He spun on his heel and was gone.

She felt instantly alone. She hadn’t expected this. But when she asked herself what she had expected, she had a foolish image of her and Arin sitting on a bench together.

Kestrel looked up at the glass roof, a pyramid of purple sky. She saw the sharp cut of the moon, and remembered Enai saying that it was best to recognize the things one cannot change.

She crossed the room to greet her friends.



Kestrel ate little at dinner and drank less, though Ronan, who sat to her right, was attentive toward her plate and cup. She was glad when the last course was served and everyone moved into the adjoining ballroom, for she had begun to feel trapped at the table, and Ronan’s talk had a pattern that was too easy to predict. She preferred listening to music. Even in a crowd, she would take a quiet pleasure in whatever the flutist played for the dance. She thought that Arin would, too, if he were here.